


1582

by myxstorie



Category: Japanese Drama, Japanese Mythology, Johnny's Entertainment, Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myxstorie/pseuds/myxstorie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My Lord, we must leave."</p>
<p>For , prompt <i>Kimono, 1582</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1582

"My Lord, we must leave."

The shouts and sounds of battle are still distant, but they grow ever-closer with every passing moment. The subjects guarding Kitayama whilst he slept were few - they had not been expecting to have to fend off an attack here, on safe territory - but they fight well, their bravery and loyalty to Kitayama fueling them to do their best, fight their hardest and take down as many as they can before they finally fall. They can't keep the troops at bay forever though; eventually the warriors will take down the last of Kitayama's men, and then there will be nothing standing in their way. One look at his master's face, and Taisuke knows Kitayama knows this too.

Then Kitayama blinks, and the defeated look in his eyes is gone.

"You wish for me to leave here, Taisuke?" He asks, straightening his back and placing his palms flat on his thighs, "You wish for me to run, and have them give chase? Do you wish for me to play the coward, Taisuke?"

Taisuke's eyes are drawn towards the ground. "No, my Lord. I simply do not wish- I do not-" He can't say it, voice stuck uncomfortably in his throat, and Taisuke swallows and says nothing.

Kitayama doesn't need him to speak though, has never needed to hear the words leave Taisuke's mouth to know what he means, and offers a small smile, reaching out to lift Taisuke's chin in an encouragement to look at him.

"I know, Taisuke. I will not let them take me, do not fear that. But you, you must leave here. You have done more for me than I could ever have asked of you, and you mean more to me than any other. So I must ask that you leave. They will not follow you, you need only hide in the temple grounds until they are gone and you will be free. You have enough gold to take care of yourself now, so please, go. This is not your time to die, not here."

But Taisuke has already stopped listening and is shaking his head firmly. "No, my Lord, I will not run. I am no coward. This is the only life I know, the only life I _wish_ to know. And if this is how I should leave this world, then so be it. I would rather it be by your side than after many years on these lands without you to share them with me."

Taisuke sees Kitayama's throat working, and catches a hint of a sad smile around his eyes, but it's gone before it ever makes it onto his face.

"Very well," his master says in tight, precise syllables. "If that is truly what you wish, Taisuke."

"It is, my Lord," Taisuke replies firmly. He might only be young, but he's never been more sure of anything in his life.

Kitayama nods sharply, eyes flickering towards the door as the shouts grow louder still. "We do not have much time. Bring me my sword."

Taisuke does as he is asked without hesitation, eyes never wavering as Kitayama draws the short blade and holds it out, straight and steady, the tip resting just above where Taisuke knows his navel to be.

"Come here," he says, and his voice is rough, taking on a gravelly effect that Taisuke isn't used to hearing in this kind of situation.

Still, Taisuke goes to him, and Kitayama leans forward to press their foreheads together, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. Kitayama's mouth tastes of salt and Taisuke's cheeks feel wet, but he can't tell whose eyes the tears are from. Maybe it doesn't matter; they've shared so much in their time together that it feels somehow apt that they should share these tears too.

Then Kitayama's easing himself back, and Taisuke doesn't look away, can't look away, as he drives the blade as deep as he can, a grunt of pain catching behind his teeth. Kitayama's fingers flex around the handle, getting a better grip before they draw it harshly across his stomach, as far to the left as he can manage. Kitayama's face is calm, features smooth, but Taisuke can see the unbearable pain shining black in his master's eyes, and Kitayama's hands falter as he tries to draw the blade across to the right to complete the ritual.

"Taisuke-" he says, grinding the word out, and it's all he needs to say. Taisuke can see his master's enviable strength failing him, fingers struggling to hold onto his blade, and he moves closer once more to take hold of hands that once held him close, wrapping fingers that once stroked through his hair in his own. As he draws the blade across in that one, final slicing motion, Taisuke presses his mouth to his master's again, feeling Kitayama's lips move weakly against his as he bleeds out across Taisuke's lap.

Taisuke holds his master upright for as long as he can, clutching onto the knife handle until the last of Kitayama's strength has faded, then he gently lays him down and draws the blade out as carefully as he can. The sounds of battle are close now, and Taisuke hears the thud of a man falling outside their door. He curls his fingers around his master's blade, still warm where Kitayama's fingers had held it tightly, and touches the tip to his stomach.

Taisuke is not scared. Taisuke knows there will be another time, another life for them.

The blade sinks home.

One day, he will be with his master again.


End file.
